


Beyond Sorrow and Grief

by topleaf



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, It’s not all sad I swear, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topleaf/pseuds/topleaf
Summary: Months after his return to the Shire, Bilbo finally finds the strength to look at some personal belongings of Thorin’s, gifted to Bilbo by Balin. This begins Bilbo’s journey of living with grief, and finding his happiness again along the way.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	Beyond Sorrow and Grief

Bilbo held on to the few tangible things that reminded him of Thorin. Foolish thing to do. 

For months it had all been collecting dust in one of his packs, never opened since he returned to Bag End. Tonight, Bilbo was ready to unpack it.

He opened a bottle of wine, settled himself on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and brought the pack to his feet.

“Alright, Bilbo Baggins,” he proclaimed. “You’ve survived many perils and faced all sorts of terrifying situations. You’ll get through this.”

It all came rushing back to him the moment he opened his pack, as Thorin’s pipe rested on top of the contents within. A lump formed in Bilbo’s throat.

A tiny piece of rolled up parchment was attached to the stem by a string. Bilbo sighed, gingerly placing the pipe on his knee, and slipped off the note.

_ Thorin’s pipe. He would have wanted you to have it. _

_ Hope this little note finds you well, dear Bilbo. _

_ Balin _

“Oh goodness.” Bilbo dropped the paper and sucked in a breath, blinking the tears away from his eyes. 

The pipe he and Thorin had shared from time to time during the Quest. The first time had been at Beorn’s. Bilbo had lost his pipe in the goblin tunnels, but somehow beneath Thorin’s many layers of clothing he had kept his own safe. 

They had grown closer at Beorn’s, the house where it felt like no evil could reach them. Bilbo had been up in the night, fiddling with his ring, when he noticed Thorin step outside. He’d waited a while, and when Thorin didn’t return, Bilbo crept out the same door to find him smoking on a bench, blowing magnificent smoke rings toward the night sky.

While they passed the pipe between them, Bilbo felt a rush whenever his lips closed over the same place Thorin’s had been. He sat close to him, enjoying the low scrape of Thorin’s voice as he told him of his childhood, and how he thought fireflies were stars. Bilbo had told him about how hobbits liked to wish upon the stars. Thorin had laughed, but he humoured Bilbo by letting silence fall between them for a moment as he made a silent wish, eyes fluttering closed. Something about the Quest being successful, no doubt. Bilbo wished for that too, or something like it. His wish hadn’t come true. 

The memory made something inside of Bilbo wither up and die—the very something that Thorin had brought back to life in him.

Back then, things had been simple. Back then, Bilbo did not know that his heart had begun to bloom for Thorin. Even now he struggled to admit it, maybe because it hurt so much. His heart had begun to bloom ever since he heard Thorin sing on that fateful night in Bag End, making him chase after him the next morning. Now Bilbo’s heart was...well...

His fingers had been lightly grazing over the carvings in the wooden pipe, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it any longer. Out of all people, Balin thought Bilbo worthy of having such a personal item of Thorin’s? It made his chest clench up with guilt. He put it aside and moved on to the next item after a swig of red wine.

Another item he didn’t remember packing himself, and another note from Balin. Confound that sappy old dwarf…

_ Thorin’s whittling knife. A simple token, but our beloved hobbit always appreciated the simple things. _

_ He would have wanted you to have this too, laddie. _

_ Balin _

“Oh, Balin.” Bilbo huffed. It felt as though all the breath in his body had left him. 

Bilbo had only seen Thorin use the knife once in Rivendell, and several times in Laketown. In Rivendell, him and Thorin had still been distant, only ever speaking like business partners. He had spotted Thorin whittling away at something in the back corner of the common area, though Bilbo couldn’t tell what it was. Then in Laketown, Thorin seemed to constantly busy himself with things. When he wasn’t gazing out at the daunting shadow of the Lonely Mountain, he had his carving knife out. Balin told Bilbo it was because Thorin liked to keep his hands busy when his mind was uneasy. Time had gone slowly in Laketown, and Thorin had grown moody and restless. 

Bilbo remembered the peaceful night by the fireplace, while most of the company had gone out to the pub. He could see Thorin whittling and quietly asked to see, but Thorin jerked his hands away from Bilbo’s view as if caught with some scandalous book. 

The sight of Thorin gulping and peering up at him with wide blue eyes elicited a high-pitched laugh from Bilbo.

“Alright, keep your secrets!” Bilbo had exclaimed.

“It’s no secret,” Thorin snapped in defense. He cleared his throat and his voice softened. “It’s not finished yet.”

“Are you sure I can’t weasel it out of you?” Bilbo poked Thorin’s arm before flopping down in the chair next to him.

A grin flashed across Thorin’s face as he looked down at his balled up fists. “I’m sure you could, Master Burglar.”

_ Confound him, he makes it sound like a term of endearment. _

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, but Thorin continued. “Although it might ruin the surprise.”

At that, Bilbo’s heart had leapt. “Is it something for me? Thorin, you know I hate surprises.”

That was the first time he had seen a twinkle of mischief in Thorin’s eye. A time when Thorin was very much  _ alive _ .

Bilbo shook his head rid of the memory. He had been gripping the handle of the knife so hard, the Khuzdul inscriptions on it had made little indents on his hand. Putting the knife aside, he rubbed at his temples. He never did find out what Thorin had made. Bilbo blamed the sickness; Thorin had lost himself during the sickness. He probably lost Bilbo’s gift as well.

Another swig of wine, this one tasting bitter, and he felt he could hardly swallow it down.

Bilbo could hardly bear to touch the next item. Attached was another note from Balin.

_ Bilbo, _

_ I don’t mean to make you upset, laddie, but let this be a symbol of Thorin’s trust in you. As you know, we Dwarves will only allow those closest to us to touch and braid our hair, so I believe...this should go to you, as well.  _

_ I believe this is the last item I have for you. Know that Thorin cared deeply for you, and _

Bilbo folded the parchment up. He had read enough. The flood gates had opened and the tears were spilling out. 

Thorin’s comb. Bilbo held his hand up to his mouth, warmth from his tears spilling over it. Somehow these items felt so personal, so true to who Thorin Oakenshield was underneath all of his duty, his lineage, his burdens. The Thorin Oakenshield who made Bilbo Baggins’ heart bloom and burst. 

When Bilbo had returned to Bag End, he had busied himself with, well, reclaiming his own home. Reclaiming his furniture, his antiques, his decorations. It had been a distraction, some purpose. Once everything was back in order, he rearranged some things around the house. Many relatives and nosey neighbours came to visit him. Once things quieted down, he would sit in his study, fiddling with his ring, his pen hovering over blank parchment. 

That is when it would sink in. He’d wonder if he made the right decision returning to Bag End rather than staying longer in Erebor. What was his purpose anymore? He had gotten so used to the rowdiness of the dwarves, their bad table manners, their stomping strides in their heavy boots, their loyalty and affection for their friends and family. The way they could see something in Bilbo that no one else could, save his mum. But there was no Thorin in Erebor. Thorin had wanted Bilbo to go back to Bag End. As Thorin Oakenshield lay dying in Bilbo’s arms, he had smiled, comforted at the thought of Bilbo returning to his cozy home, knowing that Bilbo would go on living.

Sometimes it was easy for Bilbo to simply put it out of his mind. He was back in Bag End, and Thorin, Fíli , and Kíli were in Erebor, helping to rebuild the home that Bilbo had helped them return to. 

Now that Bilbo could see Thorin’s pipe, whittling knife, and comb on his carpet, reality set in, and the grief was ripping his heart out all over again. Bilbo let himself cry that night. There was something freeing about being able to cry as much as you want when you’re alone.

As time went on, things got better. Bilbo planted his acorn. He began walking again, and met dwarves traveling from Ered Luin to Erebor. He managed to bring pen to paper, and wrote to Balin to thank him for the little tokens of Thorin’s. He reminded the company to stop in for tea if they were ever on their way to the Blue Mountains. 

Bilbo wrote songs and poems inspired by his travels. He began to practice drawing sketches—dwarven swords proved to be quite difficult! He had also finally touched the mithril corslet again, and after deciding it held too many dark memories, he donated it to the Michel Delving Mathom-house. It was a pretty thing, and Bilbo knew  _ quite well _ the importance of it, but it was of no use to him now.

Another winter passed, and Bilbo’s garden began to bloom again. And after the next winter, Bofur and Bombur were the first of the company to burst through Bilbo’s door. Bilbo got to meet all twelve of Bombur’s children! More years passed, and Drogo and Primula got married, and two months later they were expecting a child. 

Life continued on, and Bilbo watched his acorn continue to grow, knowing that one day it would grow into a strong oak tree. He remembered the wonder that poured from Thorin’s eyes when Bilbo had shown it to him, moved by the smallest, simplest thing. 

One day he finally read the rest of Balin’s note.

_ He knew in his heart that you loved him for who he was, and all the simple things, the good and the bad, that made him who he is. _

_ And Thorin loved you for that, Bilbo. Thorin loved you.  _

_ Balin _

“Oh Balin, you old sappy dwarf,” Bilbo chuckled. “I know he did.”

A tear trickled down his cheek and he let out a breath of laughter. He pressed his hand to his chest, as it felt as if it would burst. Bilbo smiled. Perhaps his poor old heart had managed to bloom again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I wanted to write a short piece about Bilbo grieving, and the notion that he will be okay after losing someone he loved. We all go through this in our lives, and as much as I prefer a good fix-it fic, I like to think about Bilbo's life after his adventure in canon.  
> If you are grieving the loss of someone important to you, know that you are strong and you will be okay. <3 
> 
> "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." - Gandalf (J.R.R. Tolkien)


End file.
